Why John Watson Doesn't Find a New Flatmate
by Whispi
Summary: John finds he can't explain to his mum the appeal of living with Sherlock. He doesn't think he quite knows himself. Pre-Reichenbach. Angst? Fluff? Flangst? Not intended as Johnlock, but can be read that way. Oneshot.


"I'm just worried about you, John, I saw your name in the paper yesterday with that man's and it wasn't exactly pretty." John's mother's voice crackled as John pressed his cell phone to his ear

"Mum," John said, trying hard not to sound angry, "I'm fine. It's all fine. Sherlock's, um, lovely." Not technically true.

"But he seems so...odd, John. I've looked at his blog, dear, and he really doesn't seem to be the kind of person I want you, well..."

"What?"

"Living with?"

"What about him is odd?" John pressed, determined to make her explain herself. "Specifically, what?"

"Well, dear," his mother said, pausing to think it over. "He just doesn't seem to have a very good reputation with the press."

"And we all know the _press_ never lies to us, don't we, mum?" John paced the living room of 221B Baker Street, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't come in now, at the worst of times.

"I'm just saying, _dear_," John's mother replied, "that you should be cautious."

"I've been living with him for a year and a bit now!" John shot back, letting his temper get the best of him. "You'd think by now I'd have realized if I didn't like living with him."

"That's my problem, John. I'm afraid you might..."

"What?"

"Nothing, dear, have you got a new girlfriend?"

"No. _Mum."_ John gritted his teeth. "Afraid I might what?"

"Oh, John, I just meant"-

"_What?"_

A long silence, then: "Well, that you might...like it?"

"Like what?" John was scared to hear the answer.

"Well, like-like living with him? Dear, the papers talk about how unbalanced that man is," his mother explained tremulously. "I've heard things..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Is it true he keeps body parts in the refrigerator?"

"Mum, he's a scientist, he has to do"-

"Oh, God, John, one day it might be your head"-

"That's what I keep hearing!" John's voice had risen to a shout. "But it's not _your_ problem, Mum"-

"I'm just worried about you!" John's mother matched him for volume.

John took a heaving breath. "Well, stop," he said in clipped tones.

An even longer silence than before followed.

"Well, dear, when he goes round the bend, my door is open," said his mother resignedly.

"I'll keep that in mind," John told her, his voice shaking with the effort of not screaming. "As always, mum, chatting with you was simply _lovely_, as usual."

"John, I just wish"-

"Don't."

"See you at Christmas, then, dear."

"We'll see." John ended the call before any more could be said.

Just then John heard the jingle of keys in the door, and he hastily put his phone on the table and picked up the nearest magazine.

A moment later Sherlock sauntered in. "The client's aunt had stolen the silverware and sold it on E-bay," was all Sherlock said by way of greeting. Suddenly his eyes took on a steely glint. "Hm, now. Your magazine is upside down, meaning..."

"No, Sherlock, please, now's not the time"-

Sherlock continued mercilessly. "...meaning that you just picked it up. If you had really been interested in reading, you would have made sure the magazine was facing the right way. No, you wanted to deceive someone, namely me, because you heard me coming in the door. I suppose it could have been Mrs. Hudson, but what would you want to hide from her? Now, what could you have been doing? Not looking at porn, because your laptop is over there charging. Let's see, no traces of food around you, so you couldn't have been 'pigging out,' as you say..."

"Christ, Sherlock!" John said, closing his magazine and slapping it down. "What do you think I do with my time? I was calling my mum!"

Sherlock's expression did not change. "Ah, thank you, John. But why wouldn't you want me to know about that...ah. It was about me, wasn't it?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "And I'd hazard a guess that she wasn't singing my praises."

"Sherlock, have you ever heard of boundaries?"

"There are no boundaries on what I can simply and easily observe," Sherlock replied smugly. "The fact that the common mind cannot understand my deductions doesn't mean I don't have every right to make them."

John closed his eyes and sighed, suddenly exhausted. Sherlock did tend to tire one out. "Make deductions all you want, then," he said, trudging toward the door. "Since I'm just a 'common mind' for you to study and...and manipulate, I guess it doesn't matter how I feel." He wondered if Sherlock would even pick up on the sarcasm. "I'm going for a walk."

Sherlock sighed, sounding put off. "Now, John, don't be stupid like you do sometimes"-

"Yes, Sherlock, thank you, you always know what to say," he snapped, cutting Sherlock off. He slammed the door and stormed off down Baker Street with no particular destination in mind.

Sherlock sat down in his favorite chair. He had really hoped John would stay so they could discuss getting a new case, but if John was going to act like a child, he couldn't do a thing about it. He picked up a science journal. The new issue would content him for a few hours, but he really did wish John would come back home. When in a particular odd mood, as he was now, he found pushing scientific boundaries slightly less interesting than talking with his flatmate. Oh well. The journals would do for the time being.

* * *

John looked up at the darkening sky and checked his watch, which told him it was 6:30. Time to get home, he thought. It was Sherlock's turn to make dinner, and he hoped it would be something normal for once. They had agreed to start cooking for themselves and switch off nights instead of eating out all the time. Restaurant food was delicious, but they found that eating out every night was getting too expensive for their budget.

John's walk had not had the desired effect. He had intended for it to calm him down. Instead, as he wandered London's streets, the more he tried not to think of Sherlock, the more he thought of Sherlock. And the more he thought of Sherlock the more pissed off he became. Sherlock never did his own laundry. Sherlock always made fun of John's dates-especially the ones that ended in tragedy. Sherlock kept weird science stuff all around the flat. Sherlock didn't respect John's feelings. Sherlock never compromised or apologized or any of that. Why the hell did he even live with Sherlock? Why couldn't he just find himself another flatmate, a _normal_ person for once. _Not_ a sociopath.

By the time John reached 221B he felt very long-suffering and angry. When he fished in his pocket, he realized he had forgotten his key. He let out a long stream of his favorite curses and felt a little better.

_Sherlock had better answer_, John thought with clenched fists as he banged on the door. If he ignored John, then John would break down the door, grab a kitchen knife, and Lestrade would have another corpse on his hands.

Luckily for both John and Lestrade, the door opened. "You're home" was all Sherlock said.

"And that's Britain's best detective, everyone," John said, with a savage desire to try to make Sherlock feel as awful as he did. "Give him a bloody round of applause."

"Shut up and stop acting like the idiot you are." Sherlock sounded more dismissive than angry, but it was enough: John's statement had hit Sherlock hard enough to warrant a reply.

John stepped into the flat and slammed the door. "Damnit, Sherlock, I'm bloody well sick of you! " He pulled off his coat and threw it over the banister.

"Not my problem," Sherlock said.

"And you've forgotten dinner, too!" John exclaimed, throwing up his hands as he entered the kitchen.

"It wasn't my turn," Sherlock said, and John was delighted to hear an edge to his voice. Sherlock was getting pissed.

"Yes it bloody well is!" John snapped, running over to the fridge. He pulled a chart off the side of it. "Look, I've been keeping a tally. I did last night. I made tortellini, remember?"

"Your tally is wrong," Sherlock said stiffly. "And that tortellini was revolting."

"My tally is _not_ wrong!" John blustered indignantly, seeing that Sherlock was attempting to leave the kitchen and planting himself firmly in the way. "You get so caught up in yourself and you forget about everyone else, including your flatmate and the agreement you and he had to switch off dinner nights! Damn you, Stamford, for setting me up with this narcissist."

"The correct word, I believe, would be 'egoist,'" Sherlock said, standing inches away from John. "Let me by."

"Don't you ignore me, you...you..." John could not think of a word insulting enough, so instead he let out a furious breath through his nose. (It was really more like a snort.)

Sherlock said nothing, but he raised an eyebrow in a most supercilious and annoying manner.

"Just say it," John demanded. "Say you're an egocentric bastard."

"I'm an egocentric bastard," Sherlock echoed gravely. "An egocentric bastard who has no intention of changing. And you're a moron, John, with a horrible temper a tendency to be very stupid and annoying." When John was silent, Sherlock prompted him to speak with another raise of the eyebrow.

"Oh, alright, and damn you," John sighed. "I'm a moron, with a horrible temper, and...what was it again?"

"A moron with a horrible temper and a tendency to be very stupid and annoying."

"Right. A tendency to be very stupid and annoying."

"Whole thing, please, John."

John narrowed his eyes. "I am a moron with a horrible temper and a tendency to be very stupid and annoying."

"Thank you," said Sherlock.

"And you."

"So that's settled, then."

"Yep."

"Fine."

"Fine."

...

"I'd like you to know that living with you is horrible." John crossed his arms.

"You'll be astonished to find that I'm not interested." Sherlock met John's eyes. "And that I won't let you leave."

"Try and make me. You're stuck with me, Mr. Holmes."

"And vice versa, Dr. Watson."

"Great."

"Great."

...

"You're still angry, aren't you?" Sherlock said.

"Yes," John replied, staring determinedly into Sherlock's eyes.

"Good, me too."

"Good."

...

"We're going to dinner." Sherlock pushed past John and went down the hall to open the coat closet.

"Yeah, okay." John followed him and picked up his coat off the banister. "You have a key?"

"When do I forget the mundane details, John?"

John was about to give Sherlock another sharp retort, but when he looked up he saw that Sherlock's eyes were dancing with amusement. "I suppose that's as close to an apology as I'm going to get."

"And a lot closer to an apology than you deserve." Sherlock and John started their walk down Baker Street.

John found he couldn't argue with that, so he just said, "But really, do you have a key?"

"I do," Sherlock said. "And that's the closest to an apology that _I'll_ get?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." But the corners of John's mouth twitched, and a new spring in Sherlock's step told John he hadn't missed the expression.

"Let's go to the new French place," John suggested.

"John, please, do _try_ to be more interesting. We're going to have Japanese."

"Whatever Her Majesty pleases. Lead the way."

...

...

"...John?"

"Hm?"

"Am I really the best detective in Britain?"

"What? Oh, undoubtedly."

The pair turned the corner and found Sherlock's favorite Japanese restaurant in London. As usual, Sherlock ordered the weirdest thing he could find on the menu. He didn't ask before stealing bites of John's dish, and he was embarrassingly rude to the waitress. He forgot money and so made John pay, and he didn't even help John calculate the tip.

And as usual, John asked idiotic, obvious questions about the menu and ordered the tamest, least exotic item he could find. He overreacted when Sherlock stole bits of his food, and he flirted shamelessly with the waitress. He even had the nerve to look disappointed when she refused to give him her number. John scoffed and rolled his eyes when Sherlock informed him that he had no money, and it took him _ages_ to calculate the tip.

When they left the restaurant, they bickered all the way back to the flat. John turned on the TV, but Sherlock told him to turn 'that intolerable background noise' off. In reply John just sighed and said he thought he should check his blog for a new case before Sherlock drove him crazy. In the end they ended up reading the many new blog comments together, chuckling over the odd ones and mentally bookmarking the interesting ones. Once that got boring (which was rather quickly, in fact), Sherlock left John on the couch and got out his violin. As John snuggled into the couch and listened to the whine of the violin, he thought that despite its rough start, the day had turned out rather well.

* * *

"Dear, I think that Sherlock really isn't good for you," John's mother said. "There've been some really awful things in the papers, haven't you seen?"

"Mum, please," John said patiently into his phone, now finding it hard to be angry with his mother. "I won't leave Sherlock. It's...hard to explain."

"Try, please, John."

John thought for a while. "It's like this, Mum," he said. "Sherlock can be awful to live with sometimes, but then again, so can I. I guess each of us knows we're both so hopeless and horrible that we'd never find another flatmate, and neither of us would ever make enough money to pay for a decent flat by ourselves." As he explained John found himself grinning. "And if we're going to be hopeless we might as well have company, right?"

"A match made in hell then?" John's mother said with an air of defeat.

John chuckled. "Something like that. Besides, half the time it's not so bad, really."

Sherlock, who had been sitting on the couch listening to John's side of the conversation, gestured indignantly for John's attention.

"I've got to go, Mum," said John. "Love to Dad. See you at Christmas."

When John hung up, Sherlock burst into speech. "_Not so bad_? John, you can't possibly tell me that you don't love being the Consultant of the Consultant Detective. I see you when we get a new case, you're like a small child at Christmas..."

_Here we go again,_ John sighed to himself, flopping down on the couch beside Sherlock. Somehow, though, he didn't mind quite as much anymore.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Reviews are my favorite!**

**Whispi**


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